The Target(107)

The five fled along the dark road. Robie kept a hand on Du-Ho and guided him along using his night optics while Reel did the same with Eun Sun.

They reached the scooters and Eun Sun climbed on with Reel while Du-Ho boarded Robie’s. They hurtled down a path toward the road. Looking behind her, Reel saw headlights on the road. She spoke into her headset, telling Robie of the bogies coming.

Robie stopped his scooter and got Du-Ho to climb on with Sook.

“Good luck,” Reel told him.

“If I’m not back in two minutes after you reach the RIB, go. Don’t wait for me.”

They set off and Robie doubled back, carrying a weapon over his shoulder. He knelt down on a knoll overlooking the road, took aim, and fired.

The RPG round hit the lead truck right in the radiator. It exploded, sending debris hundreds of feet into the air. It also did something else; it effectively blocked the road.

But the firing of the RPG had revealed his position, and bullets started flying at Robie from the other trucks. He loaded in another rocket, took aim, and fired at the second truck even as a round thudded into his chest and knocked him on his ass.

The second truck blew up and Robie heard the screams of men who were probably torn apart or burning to death.

He looked down at his chest where the round had nearly gone through his armored vest. He could feel the bruise on his sternum. It felt like he’d been hit by a car.

He rose and picked up his rifle.

There were two more trucks back there, but they couldn’t get through the obstruction formed by the pair of destroyed vehicles. The troops were running past the flames and firing at his position.

Robie readied his auto rifle, set out the bipod support legs, got in a prone position, exhaled a long breath, nestled his chin against the weapon’s stock, sighted through the night scope, took aim, and fired. And he kept firing. Acquiring a target and pulling the trigger. Acquiring another target and pulling the trigger.

He could have been on a firing range calmly mowing down paper targets. Except that here men were shooting back at him. Bullets whipped all around him. But he had the high ground and he kept firing. And with each shot a man died.

As he ran out of ammo the first mortar round exploded barely fifty feet from him, shaking the earth so violently that his rifle fell over and his face was driven into the dirt.

The next round fired, he knew, would be closer.

He couldn’t stay here any longer. The only thing he could do in the face of superior fire and manpower was retreat.

He ran back to his scooter and climbed on.

With only one person on it the scooter’s speed was much improved.

He zoomed down the path, then veered left and down the embankment and onto the road. He wound the scooter up to its top speed while shots whizzed past him. He rode for about five minutes, putting as much distance between him and his pursuers as possible.

He realized he was not yet out of range of the mortar when a round struck ahead of him, lighting the night sky like a million candles. He had to cut the scooter sharply to the right and up an embankment to avoid being hit by debris.

He flung himself off the scooter as another mortar round hit less than twenty feet from him. The impact again shook the earth, and the concussive force of the explosion sent him tumbling painfully along the rough terrain.

When he rose, covered in dirt, a pain stabbed through his leg. He felt around his thigh and his hand came away wet and reddened.

When he hustled back and looked down at the scooter his spirits sank. The front wheel was shattered. He looked up ahead of him. Still miles and miles to go. It would take him forever on foot. The boat would be long gone.

He looked behind him. They were still coming.

Well, Robie thought, this is it. But he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

He pulled his pistols from their holsters and made sure they were fully loaded. He started running, but his bad leg made it difficult. Still, everything about his job was difficult, so he forced the pain from his mind and just sucked it up.

He had covered about two painful miles when he heard it.

The whump-whump was a familiar sound to him.

The North Koreans had called in air support.

Well, that was smart. And also the end of the road for him.

He looked to the sky and saw the darkened silhouette of the chopper. There were no running lights on the bird and he wondered why. He expected a searchlight to start probing the ground for his location.

Instead, his earwig crackled.

“Agent Robie, this is Lieutenant Commander Jordan Nelson of the United States Navy in the chopper. We understand you might need some assistance.”

“That’s a roger.”

“We’ve been tracking you via the electronic location signal you’re wearing, but can you give us your precise coordinates, sir?”